u06_hades.xml

<div type="episode" n="06">
<p><lb n="060001"/>Martin Cunningham, first, poked his <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">silkhatted</distinct> head into the creaking
<lb n="060002"/>carriage and, entering deftly, seated himself. Mr Power stepped in after him,
<lb n="060003"/>curving his height with care.
<lb n="060004"/><said xml:id="said_060004_unclear" who="mc">―Come on, Simon.<certainty target="#said_060004_unclear" match="@who" locus="value" assertedValue="jp" degree="0.5"><desc>It's unclear whether Cunningham or Power speaks.</desc></certainty></said>
<lb n="060005"/><said who="lb">―After you,</said> Mr Bloom said.</p>
<p><lb n="060006"/>Mr Dedalus covered himself quickly and got in, saying:
<lb n="060007"/><said who="sid">―Yes, yes.</said>
<lb n="060008"/><said who="mc">―Are we all here now?</said> Martin Cunningham asked. <said who="mc">Come along, Bloom.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060009"/>Mr Bloom entered and sat in the vacant place. He pulled the door to
<lb n="060010"/>after him and slammed it twice till it shut tight. He passed an arm through
<lb n="060011"/>the <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">armstrap</distinct> and looked seriously from the open <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">carriagewindow</distinct> at the
<lb n="060012"/>lowered blinds of the avenue. One dragged aside: <said who="lb" aloud="false">an old woman peeping.
<lb n="060013"/>Nose <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">whiteflattened</distinct> against the pane. Thanking her stars she was passed
<lb n="060014"/>over. Extraordinary the interest they take in a corpse. Glad to see us go we
<lb n="060015"/>give them such trouble coming. Job seems to suit them. <distinct type="compound">Huggermugger</distinct> in
<lb n="060016"/>corners. Slop about in <distinct type="Joycean">slipperslappers</distinct> for fear he'd wake. Then getting it
<lb n="060017"/>ready. Laying it out. Molly and Mrs Fleming making the bed. Pull it more
<lb n="060018"/>to your side. Our <distinct type="compound">windingsheet</distinct>. Never know who will touch you dead.
<lb n="060019"/>Wash and shampoo. I believe they clip the nails and the hair. Keep a bit in
<lb n="060020"/>an envelope. Grows all the same after. Unclean job.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060021"/>All waited. Nothing was said. <said who="lb" aloud="false">Stowing in the wreaths probably. I am
<lb n="060022"/>sitting on something hard. Ah, that soap: in my hip pocket. Better shift it
<lb n="060023"/>out of that. Wait for an opportunity.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060024"/>All waited. Then wheels were heard from in front, turning: then
<lb n="060025"/>nearer: then horses' hoofs. <said who="lb" aloud="false">A jolt.</said> Their carriage began to move, creaking
<lb n="060026"/>and swaying. Other hoofs and creaking wheels started behind. The blinds
<lb n="060027"/>of the avenue passed and number nine with its craped knocker, door ajar.
<lb n="060028"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">At walking pace.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060029"/>They waited still, their knees jogging, till they had turned and were
<lb n="060030"/>passing along the <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">tramtracks</distinct>. <said who="lb" aloud="false">Tritonville road. Quicker.</said> The wheels rattled
<lb n="060031"/>rolling over the cobbled causeway and the crazy glasses shook rattling in
<lb n="060032"/>the doorframes.
<lb n="060033"/><said who="jp">―What way is he taking us?</said> Mr Power asked through both windows.
<lb n="060034"/><said who="mc">―Irishtown,</said> Martin Cunningham said. <said who="mc">Ringsend. Brunswick street.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060035"/>Mr Dedalus nodded, looking out.
<lb n="060036"/><said who="sid">―That's a fine old custom,</said> he said. <said who="sid">I am glad to see it has not died out.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060037"/>All watched awhile through their windows caps and hats lifted by
<lb n="060038"/>passers. Respect. The carriage swerved from the <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">tramtrack</distinct> to the smoother
<lb n="060039"/>road past Watery lane. Mr Bloom at gaze saw a lithe young man, clad in
<lb n="060040"/>mourning, a wide hat.
<lb n="060041"/><said who="lb">―There's a friend of yours gone by, Dedalus,</said> he said.
<lb n="060042"/><said who="sid">―Who is that?</said>
<lb n="060043"/><said who="lb">―Your son and heir.</said>
<lb n="060044"/><said who="sid">―Where is he?</said> Mr Dedalus said, stretching over across.</p>
<p><lb n="060045"/>The carriage, passing the open drains and mounds of <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">rippedup</distinct>
<lb n="060046"/>roadway before the tenement houses, lurched round the corner and,
<lb n="060047"/>swerving back to the <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">tramtrack</distinct>, rolled on noisily with chattering wheels.
<lb n="060048"/>Mr Dedalus fell back, saying:
<lb n="060049"/><said who="sid">―Was that Mulligan cad with him? His <foreign xml:lang="la">fidus Achates</foreign>!</said>
<lb n="060050"/><said who="lb">―No,</said> Mr Bloom said. <said who="lb">He was alone.</said>
<lb n="060051"/><said who="sid">―Down with his aunt Sally, I suppose,</said> Mr Dedalus said, <said who="sid">the Goulding
<lb n="060052"/>faction, the drunken little <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">costdrawer</distinct> and Crissie, papa's little lump of
<lb n="060053"/>dung, the wise child that knows her own father.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060054"/>Mr Bloom smiled joylessly on Ringsend road. <said who="lb" aloud="false">Wallace Bros: the
<lb n="060055"/>bottleworks: Dodder bridge.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060056"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">Richie Goulding and the legal bag. Goulding, Collis and Ward he
<lb n="060057"/>calls the firm. His jokes are getting a bit damp. Great card he was. Waltzing
<lb n="060058"/>in Stamer street with Ignatius Gallaher on a Sunday morning, the
<lb n="060059"/>landlady's two hats pinned on his head. Out on the rampage all night.
<lb n="060060"/>Beginning to tell on him now: that backache of his, I fear. Wife ironing his
<lb n="060061"/>back. Thinks he'll cure it with pills. All breadcrumbs they are. About six
  <lb n="060062"/>hundred per cent profit.</said>
<lb n="060063"/><said who="sid">―He's in with a lowdown crowd,</said> Mr Dedalus snarled. <said who="sid">That Mulligan is a
<lb n="060064"/>contaminated bloody <distinct type="compound">doubledyed</distinct> ruffian by all accounts. His name stinks
<lb n="060065"/>all over Dublin. But with the help of God and His blessed mother I'll make
<lb n="060066"/>it my business to write a letter one of those days to his mother or his aunt or
<lb n="060067"/>whatever she is that will open her eye as wide as a gate. I'll tickle his
<lb n="060068"/>catastrophe, believe you me.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060069"/>He cried above the clatter of the wheels:
<lb n="060070"/><said who="sid">―I won't have her bastard of a nephew ruin my son. A counterjumper's
<lb n="060071"/>son. Selling tapes in my cousin, Peter Paul M'Swiney's. Not likely.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060072"/>He ceased. Mr Bloom glanced from his angry moustache to Mr
<lb n="060073"/>Power's mild face and Martin Cunningham's eyes and beard, gravely
  <lb n="060074"/>shaking. <said who="lb" aloud="false">Noisy <distinct type="compound">selfwilled</distinct> man. Full of his son. He is right. Something to
<lb n="060075"/>hand on. If little Rudy had lived. See him grow up. Hear his voice in the
<lb n="060076"/>house. Walking beside Molly in an Eton suit. My son. Me in his eyes.
<lb n="060077"/>Strange feeling it would be. From me. Just a chance. Must have been that
<lb n="060078"/>morning in Raymond terrace she was at the window watching the two dogs
<lb n="060079"/>at it by the wall of the cease to do evil. And the sergeant grinning up. She
<lb n="060080"/>had that cream gown on with the rip she never stitched. Give us a touch,
<lb n="060081"/>Poldy. God, I'm dying for it. How life begins.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060082"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">Got big then. Had to refuse the Greystones concert. My son inside
<lb n="060083"/>her. I could have helped him on in life. I could. Make him independent.
<lb n="060084"/>Learn German too.</said>
<lb n="060085"/><said who="jp">―Are we late?</said> Mr Power asked.
<lb n="060086"/><said who="mc">―Ten minutes,</said> Martin Cunningham said, looking at his watch.</p>
<p><lb n="060087"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">Molly. Milly. Same thing watered down. Her tomboy oaths. O
<lb n="060088"/>jumping Jupiter! Ye gods and little fishes! Still, she's a dear girl. Soon be a
<lb n="060089"/>woman. Mullingar. Dearest Papli. Young student. Yes, yes: a woman too.
<lb n="060090"/>Life, life.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060091"/>The carriage heeled over and back, their four trunks swaying.
<lb n="060092"/><said who="jp">―Corny might have given us a more commodious yoke,</said> Mr Power said.
<lb n="060093"/><said who="sid">―He might,</said> Mr Dedalus said, <said who="sid">if he hadn't that squint troubling him. <said who="ck" rend="none">Do
<lb n="060094"/>you follow me?</said></said></p>
<p><lb n="060095"/>He closed his left eye. Martin Cunningham began to brush away
<lb n="060096"/><distinct type="nonstandard-compound">crustcrumbs</distinct> from under his thighs.
<lb n="060097"/><said who="mc">―What is this,</said> he said, <said who="mc">in the name of God? Crumbs?</said>
<lb n="060098"/><said who="jp">―Someone seems to have been making a picnic party here lately,</said> Mr Power
<lb n="060099"/>said.</p>
<p><lb n="060100"/>All raised their thighs and eyed with disfavour the mildewed
<lb n="060101"/>buttonless leather of the seats. Mr Dedalus, twisting his nose, frowned
<lb n="060102"/>downward and said:
<lb n="060103"/><said who="sid">―Unless I'm greatly mistaken ... What do you think, Martin?</said>
<lb n="060104"/><said who="mc">―It struck me too,</said> Martin Cunningham said.</p>
<p><lb n="060105"/>Mr Bloom set his thigh down. <said who="lb" aloud="false">Glad I took that bath. Feel my feet
<lb n="060106"/>quite clean. But I wish Mrs Fleming had darned these socks better.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060107"/>Mr Dedalus sighed resignedly.
<lb n="060108"/><said who="sid">―After all,</said> he said, <said who="sid">it's the most natural thing in the world.</said>
<lb n="060109"/><said who="mc">―Did Tom Kernan turn up?</said> Martin Cunningham asked, twirling the peak
<lb n="060110"/>of his beard gently.
<lb n="060111"/><said who="lb">―Yes,</said> Mr Bloom answered. <said who="lb">He's behind with Ned Lambert and Hynes.</said>
<lb n="060112"/><said who="jp">―And Corny Kelleher himself?</said> Mr Power asked.
<lb n="060113"/><said who="mc">―At the cemetery,</said> Martin Cunningham said.
<lb n="060114"/><said who="lb">―I met M'Coy this morning,</said> Mr Bloom said. <said who="lb">He said he'd try to come.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060115"/>The carriage halted short.
<lb n="060116"/><said who="unclear">―What's wrong?</said>
<lb n="060117"/><said who="unclear">―We're stopped.</said>
<lb n="060118"/><said who="unclear">―Where are we?</said></p>
<p><lb n="060119"/>Mr Bloom put his head out of the window.
<lb n="060120"/><said who="lb">―The grand canal,</said> he said.</p>
<p><lb n="060121"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">Gasworks. Whooping cough they say it cures. Good job Milly never
<lb n="060122"/>got it. Poor children! Doubles them up black and blue in convulsions.
<lb n="060123"/>Shame really. Got off lightly with illnesses compared. Only measles.
<lb n="060124"/>Flaxseed tea. Scarlatina, influenza epidemics. Canvassing for death. Don't
<lb n="060125"/>miss this chance. Dogs' home over there. Poor old Athos! Be good to Athos,
<lb n="060126"/>Leopold, is my last wish. Thy will be done. We obey them in the grave. A
<lb n="060127"/>dying scrawl. He took it to heart, pined away. Quiet brute. Old men's dogs
<lb n="060128"/>usually are.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060129"/>A raindrop spat on his hat. He drew back and saw an instant of
<lb n="060130"/>shower spray dots over the grey flags. <said who="lb" aloud="false">Apart. Curious. Like through a
<lb n="060131"/>colander. I thought it would. My boots were creaking I remember now.</said>
<lb n="060132"/><said who="lb">―The weather is changing,</said> he said quietly.
<lb n="060133"/><said who="mc">―A pity it did not keep up fine,</said> Martin Cunningham said.
<lb n="060134"/><said who="jp">―Wanted for the country,</said> Mr Power said. <said who="jp">There's the sun again coming
<lb n="060135"/>out.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060136"/>Mr Dedalus, peering through his glasses towards the veiled sun,
<lb n="060137"/>hurled a mute curse at the sky.
<lb n="060138"/><said who="sid">―It's as uncertain as a child's bottom,</said> he said.
<lb n="060139"/><said who="unclear">―We're off again.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060140"/>The carriage turned again its stiff wheels and their trunks swayed
<lb n="060141"/>gently. Martin Cunningham twirled more quickly the peak of his beard.
<lb n="060142"/><said who="mc">―Tom Kernan was immense last night,</said> he said. <said who="mc">And Paddy Leonard taking
<lb n="060143"/>him off to his face.</said>
<lb n="060144"/><said who="jp">―O, draw him out, Martin,</said> Mr Power said eagerly. <said who="jp">Wait till you hear him,
<lb n="060145"/>Simon, on Ben Dollard's singing of <title type="song">The Croppy Boy</title>.</said>
<lb n="060146"/><said who="mc">―Immense,</said> Martin Cunningham said pompously. <said who="mc"><said who="tk" rend="italics">His singing of that simple
<lb n="060147"/>ballad, Martin, is the most trenchant rendering I ever heard in the whole
<lb n="060148"/>course of my experience.</said></said>
<lb n="060149"/><said who="jp">―<said who="tk" rend="italics">Trenchant</said>,</said> Mr Power said laughing. <said who="jp">He's dead nuts on that. And the
<lb n="060150"/><said who="tk" rend="italics">retrospective arrangement</said>.</said>
<lb n="060151"/><said who="mc">―Did you read Dan Dawson's speech?</said> Martin Cunningham asked.
<lb n="060152"/><said who="sid">―I did not then,</said> Mr Dedalus said. <said who="sid">Where is it?</said>
<lb n="060153"/><said who="mc">―In the paper this morning.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060154"/>Mr Bloom took the paper from his inside pocket. <said who="lb" aloud="false">That book I must
<lb n="060155"/>change for her.</said>
<lb n="060156"/><said who="sid">―No, no,</said> Mr Dedalus said quickly. <said who="sid">Later on please.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060157"/>Mr Bloom's glance travelled down the edge of the paper, scanning the
<lb n="060158"/>deaths: <said who="lb" aloud="false">Callan, Coleman, Dignam, Fawcett, Lowry, Naumann, Peake, what
<lb n="060159"/>Peake is that? is it the chap was in Crosbie and Alleyne's? no, Sexton,
<lb n="060160"/>Urbright. Inked characters fast fading on the frayed breaking paper.
<lb n="060161"/>Thanks to the Little Flower. Sadly missed. To the inexpressible grief of his.
<lb n="060162"/>Aged 88 after a long and tedious illness. Month's mind: Quinlan. On whose
<lb n="060163"/>soul Sweet Jesus have mercy.</said></p>
<q><lg rend="italics"><lb n="060164"/><said who="lb" aloud="false"><l>It is now a month since dear Henry fled</l>
<lb n="060165"/><l>To his home up above in the sky</l>
<lb n="060166"/><l>While his family weeps and mourns his loss</l>
<lb n="060167"/><l>Hoping some day to meet him on high.</l></said></lg></q>
<p><lb n="060168"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">I tore up the envelope? Yes. Where did I put her letter after I read it in
<lb n="060169"/>the bath? He patted his <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">waistcoatpocket</distinct>. There all right. Dear Henry fled.
<lb n="060170"/>Before my patience are exhausted.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060171"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">National school. Meade's yard. The hazard. Only two there now.
<lb n="060172"/>Nodding. Full as a tick. Too much bone in their skulls. The other trotting
<lb n="060173"/>round with a fare. An hour ago I was passing there. The <distinct type="dialect">jarvies</distinct> raised their
<lb n="060174"/>hats.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060175"/>A pointsman's back straightened itself upright suddenly against a
<lb n="060176"/>tramway standard by Mr Bloom's window. <said who="lb" aloud="false">Couldn't they invent something
<lb n="060177"/>automatic so that the wheel itself much handier? Well but that fellow would
<lb n="060178"/>lose his job then? Well but then another fellow would get a job making the
<lb n="060179"/>new invention?</said></p>
<p><lb n="060180"/><said who="lb" aloud="false"><distinct type="archaism">Antient</distinct> concert rooms. Nothing on there. A man in a buff suit with a
<lb n="060181"/>crape armlet. Not much grief there. Quarter mourning. People in law
<lb n="060182"/>perhaps.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060183"/>They went past the bleak pulpit of saint Mark's, under the railway
<lb n="060184"/>bridge, past the Queen's theatre: <said who="lb" aloud="false">in silence. Hoardings: Eugene Stratton,
<lb n="060185"/>Mrs Bandmann Palmer. Could I go to see <title type="play">Leah</title> tonight, I wonder. I said I.
<lb n="060186"/>Or the <title type="opera">Lily of Killarney</title>? Elster Grimes Opera Company. Big powerful
<lb n="060187"/>change. Wet bright bills for next week. <title type="play">Fun on the Bristol.</title> Martin
<lb n="060188"/>Cunningham could work a pass for the Gaiety. Have to stand a drink or
<lb n="060189"/>two. As broad as it's long.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060190"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">He's coming in the afternoon. Her songs.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060191"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">Plasto's. Sir Philip Crampton's memorial fountain bust. Who was he?</said>
<lb n="060192"/><said who="mc">―How do you do?</said> Martin Cunningham said, raising his palm to his brow
<lb n="060193"/>in salute.
<lb n="060194"/><said who="jp">―He doesn't see us,</said> Mr Power said. <said who="jp">Yes, he does. How do you do?</said>
<lb n="060195"/><said who="sid">―Who?</said> Mr Dedalus asked.
<lb n="060196"/><said who="jp">―Blazes Boylan,</said> Mr Power said. <said who="jp">There he is airing his <distinct type="dialect">quiff</distinct>.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060197"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">Just that moment I was thinking.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060198"/>Mr Dedalus bent across to salute. From the door of the Red Bank the
<lb n="060199"/>white disc of a straw hat flashed reply: <said who="lb" aloud="false">spruce figure: passed.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060200"/>Mr Bloom reviewed the nails of his left hand, then those of his right
<lb n="060201"/>hand. <said who="lb" aloud="false">The nails, yes. Is there anything more in him that they she sees?
<lb n="060202"/>Fascination. Worst man in Dublin. That keeps him alive. They sometimes
<lb n="060203"/>feel what a person is. Instinct. But a type like that. My nails. I am just
<lb n="060204"/>looking at them: well pared. And after: thinking alone. Body getting a bit
<lb n="060205"/>softy. I would notice that: from remembering. What causes that? I suppose
<lb n="060206"/>the skin can't contract quickly enough when the flesh falls off. But the
<lb n="060207"/>shape is there. The shape is there still. Shoulders. Hips. Plump. Night of the
<lb n="060208"/>dance dressing. Shift stuck between the cheeks behind.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060209"/>He clasped his hands between his knees and, satisfied, sent his vacant
<lb n="060210"/>glance over their faces.</p>
<p><lb n="060211"/>Mr Power asked:
<lb n="060212"/><said who="jp">―How is the concert tour getting on, Bloom?</said>
<lb n="060213"/><said who="lb">―O, very well,</said> Mr Bloom said. <said who="lb">I hear great accounts of it. It's a good idea,
<lb n="060214"/>you see ...</said>
<lb n="060215"/><said who="unclear">―Are you going yourself?</said>
<lb n="060216"/><said who="lb">―Well no,</said> Mr Bloom said. <said who="lb">In point of fact I have to go down to the county
<lb n="060217"/>Clare on some private business. You see the idea is to tour the chief towns.
<lb n="060218"/>What you lose on one you can make up on the other.</said>
<lb n="060219"/><said who="mc">―Quite so,</said> Martin Cunningham said. <said who="mc">Mary Anderson is up there now.
<lb n="060220"/>Have you good artists?</said>
<lb n="060221"/><said who="lb">―Louis Werner is touring her,</said> Mr Bloom said. <said who="lb">O yes, we'll have all
<lb n="060222"/><distinct type="dialect">topnobbers</distinct>. J. C. Doyle and John MacCormack I hope and. The best, in
<lb n="060223"/>fact.</said>
<lb n="060224"/><said who="jp">―And <foreign xml:lang="fr">madame</foreign>,</said> Mr Power said smiling. <said who="jp">Last but not least.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060225"/>Mr Bloom unclasped his hands in a gesture of soft politeness and
<lb n="060226"/>clasped them. <said who="lb" aloud="false">Smith O'Brien. Someone has laid a bunch of flowers there.
<lb n="060227"/>Woman. Must be his <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">deathday</distinct>. For many happy returns. The carriage
<lb n="060228"/>wheeling by Farrell's statue united noiselessly their unresisting knees.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060229"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">Oot:</said> a <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">dullgarbed</distinct> old man from the curbstone tendered his wares, his
<lb n="060230"/>mouth opening: <said who="lb" aloud="false">oot.</said>
<lb n="060231"/><said who="uom">―Four bootlaces for a penny.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060232"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">Wonder why he was struck off the rolls. Had his office in Hume
<lb n="060233"/>street. Same house as Molly's namesake, Tweedy, crown solicitor for
<lb n="060234"/>Waterford. Has that silk hat ever since. Relics of old decency. Mourning
<lb n="060235"/>too. Terrible comedown, poor wretch! Kicked about like snuff at a wake.
<lb n="060236"/>O'Callaghan on his last legs.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060237"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">And <foreign xml:lang="fr">madame</foreign>. Twenty past eleven. Up. Mrs Fleming is in to clean.
<lb n="060238"/>Doing her hair, humming. <foreign xml:lang="it">Voglio e non vorrei.</foreign> No. <foreign xml:lang="it">Vorrei e non.</foreign> Looking
<lb n="060239"/>at the tips of her hairs to see if they are split. <foreign xml:lang="it">Mi trema un poco il.</foreign> Beautiful
<lb n="060240"/>on that <foreign xml:lang="it">tre</foreign> her voice is: weeping tone. A thrush. A <distinct type="archaism">throstle</distinct>. There is a word
<lb n="060241"/><distinct type="archaism">throstle</distinct> that expresses that.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060242"/>His eyes passed lightly over Mr Power's <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">goodlooking</distinct> face. <said who="lb" aloud="false">Greyish
<lb n="060243"/>over the ears. <foreign xml:lang="fr">Madame</foreign>: smiling. I smiled back. A smile goes a long way.
<lb n="060244"/>Only politeness perhaps. Nice fellow. Who knows is that true about the
<lb n="060245"/>woman he keeps? Not pleasant for the wife. Yet they say, who was it told
<lb n="060246"/>me, there is no carnal. You would imagine that would get played out pretty
<lb n="060247"/>quick. Yes, it was Crofton met him one evening bringing her a pound of
<lb n="060248"/><distinct type="nonstandard-compound">rumpsteak</distinct>. What is this she was? Barmaid in Jury's. Or the Moira, was it?</said></p>
<p><lb n="060249"/>They passed under the <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">hugecloaked</distinct> Liberator's form.</p>
<p><lb n="060250"/>Martin Cunningham nudged Mr Power.
<lb n="060251"/><said who="mc">―Of the tribe of Reuben,</said> he said.</p>
<p><lb n="060252"/>A tall <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">blackbearded</distinct> figure, bent on a stick, stumping round the corner
<lb n="060253"/>of Elvery's Elephant house, showed them a curved hand open on his spine.
<lb n="060254"/><said who="jp">―In all his pristine beauty,</said> Mr Power said.</p>
<p><lb n="060255"/>Mr Dedalus looked after the stumping figure and said mildly:
<lb n="060256"/><said who="sid">―The devil break the hasp of your back!</said></p>
<p><lb n="060257"/>Mr Power, collapsing in laughter, shaded his face from the window as
<lb n="060258"/>the carriage passed Gray's statue.
<lb n="060259"/><said who="mc">―We have all been there,</said> Martin Cunningham said broadly.</p>
<p><lb n="060260"/>His eyes met Mr Bloom's eyes. He caressed his beard, adding:
<lb n="060261"/><said who="mc">―Well, nearly all of us.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060262"/>Mr Bloom began to speak with sudden eagerness to his companions'
<lb n="060263"/>faces.
<lb n="060264"/><said who="lb">―That's an awfully good one that's going the rounds about Reuben J and
<lb n="060265"/>the son.</said>
<lb n="060266"/><said who="jp">―About the boatman?</said> Mr Power asked.
<lb n="060267"/><said who="lb">―Yes. Isn't it awfully good?</said>
<lb n="060268"/><said who="sid">―What is that?</said> Mr Dedalus asked. <said who="sid">I didn't hear it.</said>
<lb n="060269"/><said who="lb">―There was a girl in the case,</said> Mr Bloom began, <said who="lb">and he determined to send
<lb n="060270"/>him to the Isle of Man out of harm's way but when they were both ...</said>
<lb n="060271"/><said who="sid">―What?</said> Mr Dedalus asked. <said who="sid">That confirmed bloody hobbledehoy is it?</said>
<lb n="060272"/><said who="lb">―Yes,</said> Mr Bloom said. <said who="lb">They were both on the way to the boat and he tried
<lb n="060273"/>to drown .....</said>
<lb n="060274"/><said who="sid">―Drown Barabbas!</said> Mr Dedalus cried. <said who="sid">I wish to Christ he did!</said></p>
<p><lb n="060275"/>Mr Power sent a long laugh down his shaded nostrils.
<lb n="060276"/><said who="lb">―No,</said> Mr Bloom said, <said who="lb">the son himself ....</said></p>
<p><lb n="060277"/>Martin Cunningham thwarted his speech rudely:
<lb n="060278"/><said who="mc">―Reuben J and the son were piking it down the quay next the river on their
<lb n="060279"/>way to the Isle of Man boat and the young chiseller suddenly got loose and
<lb n="060280"/>over the wall with him into the Liffey.</said>
<lb n="060281"/><said who="sid">―For God' sake!</said> Mr Dedalus exclaimed in fright. <said who="sid">Is he dead?</said>
<lb n="060282"/><said who="mc">―Dead!</said> Martin Cunningham cried. <said who="mc">Not he! A boatman got a pole and
<lb n="060283"/>fished him out by the slack of the breeches and he was landed up to the
<lb n="060284"/>father on the quay more dead than alive. Half the town was there.</said>
<lb n="060285"/><said who="lb">―Yes,</said> Mr Bloom said. <said who="lb">But the funny part is ....</said>
<lb n="060286"/><said who="mc">―And Reuben J,</said> Martin Cunningham said, <said who="mc">gave the boatman a florin for
<lb n="060287"/>saving his son's life.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060288"/>A stifled sigh came from under Mr Power's hand.
<lb n="060289"/><said who="mc">―O, he did,</said> Martin Cunningham affirmed. <said who="mc">Like a hero. A silver florin.</said>
<lb n="060290"/><said who="lb">―Isn't it awfully good?</said> Mr Bloom said eagerly.
<lb n="060291"/><said who="sid">―One and <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">eightpence</distinct> too much,</said> Mr Dedalus said drily.</p>
<p><lb n="060292"/>Mr Power's choked laugh burst quietly in the carriage.</p>
<p><lb n="060293"/>Nelson's pillar.
<lb n="060294"/><said who="uplum">―Eight plums a penny! Eight for a penny!</said>
<lb n="060295"/><said who="mc">―We had better look a little serious,</said> Martin Cunningham said.</p>
<p><lb n="060296"/>Mr Dedalus sighed.
<lb n="060297"/><said who="sid">―Ah then indeed,</said> he said, <said who="sid">poor little Paddy wouldn't grudge us a laugh.
<lb n="060298"/>Many a good one he told himself.</said>
<lb n="060299"/><said who="jp">―The Lord forgive me!</said> Mr Power said, wiping his wet eyes with his
<lb n="060300"/>fingers. <said who="jp">Poor Paddy! I little thought a week ago when I saw him last and he
<lb n="060301"/>was in his usual health that I'd be driving after him like this. He's gone
<lb n="060302"/>from us.</said>
<lb n="060303"/><said who="sid">―As decent a little man as ever wore a hat,</said> Mr Dedalus said. <said who="sid">He went very
<lb n="060304"/>suddenly.</said>
<lb n="060305"/><said who="mc">―Breakdown,</said> Martin Cunningham said. <said who="mc">Heart.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060306"/>He tapped his chest sadly.</p>
<p><lb n="060307"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">Blazing face: <distinct type="compound">redhot</distinct>. Too much John Barleycorn. Cure for a red
<lb n="060308"/>nose. Drink like the devil till it turns adelite. A lot of money he spent
<lb n="060309"/>colouring it.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060310"/>Mr Power gazed at the passing houses with rueful apprehension.
<lb n="060311"/><said who="jp">―He had a sudden death, poor fellow,</said> he said.
<lb n="060312"/><said who="lb">―The best death,</said> Mr Bloom said.</p>
<p><lb n="060313"/>Their <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">wideopen</distinct> eyes looked at him.
<lb n="060314"/><said who="lb">―No suffering,</said> he said. <said who="lb">A moment and all is over. Like dying in sleep.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060315"/>No-one spoke.</p>
<p><lb n="060316"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">Dead side of the street this. Dull business by day, land agents,
<lb n="060317"/>temperance hotel, Falconer's railway guide, civil service college, Gill's,
<lb n="060318"/>catholic club, the industrious blind. Why? Some reason. Sun or wind. At
<lb n="060319"/>night too. Chummies and <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">slaveys</distinct>. Under the patronage of the late Father
<lb n="060320"/>Mathew. Foundation stone for Parnell. Breakdown. Heart.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060321"/>White horses with white frontlet plumes came round the Rotunda
<lb n="060322"/>corner, galloping. A tiny coffin flashed by. <said who="lb" aloud="false">In a hurry to bury. A mourning
<lb n="060323"/>coach. Unmarried. Black for the married. Piebald for bachelors. Dun for a
<lb n="060324"/>nun.</said>
<lb n="060325"/><said who="mc">―Sad,</said> Martin Cunningham said. <said who="mc">A child.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060326"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">A dwarf's face, mauve and wrinkled like little Rudy's was. Dwarf's
<lb n="060327"/>body, weak as putty, in a <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">whitelined</distinct> deal box. Burial friendly society pays.
<lb n="060328"/>Penny a week for a sod of turf. Our. Little. Beggar. Baby. Meant nothing.
<lb n="060329"/>Mistake of nature. If it's healthy it's from the mother. If not from the man.
<lb n="060330"/>Better luck next time.</said>
<lb n="060331"/><said who="sid">―Poor little thing,</said> Mr Dedalus said. <said who="sid">It's well out of it.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060332"/>The carriage climbed more slowly the hill of Rutland square. <said who="lb" aloud="false">Rattle
<lb n="060333"/>his bones. Over the stones. Only a pauper. Nobody owns.</said>
<lb n="060334"/><said who="mc">―In the midst of life,</said> Martin Cunningham said.
<lb n="060335"/><said who="jp">―But the worst of all,</said> Mr Power said, <said who="jp">is the man who takes his own life.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060336"/>Martin Cunningham drew out his watch briskly, coughed and put it
<lb n="060337"/>back.
<lb n="060338"/><said who="jp">―The greatest disgrace to have in the family,</said> Mr Power added.
<lb n="060339"/><said who="mc">―Temporary insanity, of course,</said> Martin Cunningham said decisively. <said who="mc">We
<lb n="060340"/>must take a charitable view of it.</said>
<lb n="060341"/><said who="sid">―They say a man who does it is a coward,</said> Mr Dedalus said.
<lb n="060342"/><said who="mc">―It is not for us to judge,</said> Martin Cunningham said.</p>
<p><lb n="060343"/>Mr Bloom, about to speak, closed his lips again. <said who="lb" aloud="false">Martin
<lb n="060344"/>Cunningham's large eyes. Looking away now. Sympathetic human man he
<lb n="060345"/>is. Intelligent. Like Shakespeare's face. Always a good word to say. They
<lb n="060346"/>have no mercy on that here or infanticide. Refuse christian burial. They
<lb n="060347"/>used to drive a stake of wood through his heart in the grave. As if it wasn't
<lb n="060348"/>broken already. Yet sometimes they repent too late. Found in the riverbed
<lb n="060349"/>clutching rushes. He looked at me. And that awful drunkard of a wife of
<lb n="060350"/>his. Setting up house for her time after time and then pawning the furniture
<lb n="060351"/>on him every Saturday almost. Leading him the life of the damned. Wear
<lb n="060352"/>the heart out of a stone, that. Monday morning. Start afresh. Shoulder to
<lb n="060353"/>the wheel. Lord, she must have looked a sight that night Dedalus told me he
<lb n="060354"/>was in there. Drunk about the place and capering with Martin's umbrella.</said></p>
<quote><lg rend="italics"><lb n="060355"/><said who="lb" aloud="false"><l>And they call me the jewel of Asia,</l>
<lb n="060356"/><l>Of Asia,</l>
<lb n="060357"/><l>The geisha.</l></said></lg></quote>
<p><lb n="060358"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">He looked away from me. He knows. Rattle his bones.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060359"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">That afternoon of the inquest. The <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">redlabelled</distinct> bottle on the table. The
<lb n="060360"/>room in the hotel with hunting pictures. Stuffy it was. Sunlight through the
<lb n="060361"/>slats of the Venetian blind. The coroner's sunlit ears, big and hairy. Boots
<lb n="060362"/>giving evidence. Thought he was asleep first. Then saw like yellow streaks
<lb n="060363"/>on his face. Had slipped down to the foot of the bed. Verdict: overdose.
<lb n="060364"/>Death by misadventure. The letter. For my son Leopold.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060365"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">No more pain. Wake no more. Nobody owns.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060366"/>The carriage rattled swiftly along Blessington street. Over the stones.
<lb n="060367"/><said who="mc">―We are going the pace, I think,</said> Martin Cunningham said.
<lb n="060368"/><said who="jp">―God grant he doesn't upset us on the road,</said> Mr Power said.
<lb n="060369"/><said who="mc">―I hope not,</said> Martin Cunningham said. <said who="mc">That will be a great race tomorrow
<lb n="060370"/>in Germany. The Gordon Bennett.</said>
<lb n="060371"/><said who="sid">―Yes, by Jove,</said> Mr Dedalus said. <said who="sid">That will be worth seeing, faith.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060372"/>As they turned into Berkeley street a <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">streetorgan</distinct> near the Basin sent
<lb n="060373"/>over and after them a rollicking rattling song of the halls. <said who="lb" aloud="false">Has anybody
<lb n="060374"/>here seen Kelly? Kay ee double ell wy. Dead March from <title type="oratorio">Saul</title>. He's as bad
<lb n="060375"/>as old Antonio. He left me on my ownio. Pirouette! The <foreign xml:lang="la">Mater
<lb n="060376"/>Misericordiae</foreign>. Eccles street. My house down there. Big place. Ward for
<lb n="060377"/>incurables there. Very encouraging. Our Lady's Hospice for the dying.
<lb n="060378"/><distinct type="nonstandard-compound">Deadhouse</distinct> handy underneath. Where old Mrs Riordan died. They look
<lb n="060379"/>terrible the women. Her feeding cup and rubbing her mouth with the
<lb n="060380"/>spoon. Then the screen round her bed for her to die. Nice young student
<lb n="060381"/>that was dressed that bite the bee gave me. He's gone over to the lying-in
<lb n="060382"/>hospital they told me. From one extreme to the other.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060383"/>The carriage galloped round a corner: <said who="lb" aloud="false">stopped.</said>
<lb n="060384"/><said who="unclear">―What's wrong now?</said></p>
<p><lb n="060385"/>A divided drove of branded cattle passed the windows, lowing,
<lb n="060386"/>slouching by on padded hoofs, whisking their tails slowly on their clotted
<lb n="060387"/>bony croups. Outside them and through them ran raddled sheep bleating
<lb n="060388"/>their fear.
<lb n="060389"/><said who="jp">―Emigrants,</said> Mr Power said.
<lb n="060390"/><said who="ud">―Huuuh!</said> the drover's voice cried, his switch sounding on their flanks.
<lb n="060391"/><said who="ud">Huuuh! out of that!</said></p>
<p><lb n="060392"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">Thursday, of course. Tomorrow is killing day. Springers. Cuffe sold
<lb n="060393"/>them about <distinct type="compound">twentyseven</distinct> quid each. For Liverpool probably. <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">Roastbeef</distinct> for
<lb n="060394"/>old England. They buy up all the juicy ones. And then the fifth quarter lost:
<lb n="060395"/>all that raw stuff, hide, hair, horns. Comes to a big thing in a year. Dead
<lb n="060396"/>meat trade. Byproducts of the slaughterhouses for tanneries, soap,
<lb n="060397"/>margarine. Wonder if that dodge works now getting <distinct type="archaism">dicky</distinct> meat off the
<lb n="060398"/>train at Clonsilla.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060399"/>The carriage moved on through the drove.
<lb n="060400"/><said who="lb">―I can't make out why the corporation doesn't run a tramline from the
<lb n="060401"/><distinct type="nonstandard-compound">parkgate</distinct> to the quays,</said> Mr Bloom said. <said who="lb">All those animals could be taken in
<lb n="060402"/>trucks down to the boats.</said>
<lb n="060403"/><said who="mc">―Instead of blocking up the thoroughfare,</said> Martin Cunningham said. <said who="mc">Quite
<lb n="060404"/>right. They ought to.</said>
<lb n="060405"/><said who="lb">―Yes,</said> Mr Bloom said, <said who="lb">and another thing I often thought, is to have
<lb n="060406"/>municipal funeral trams like they have in Milan, you know. Run the line out
<lb n="060407"/>to the cemetery gates and have special trams, hearse and carriage and all.
<lb n="060408"/>Don't you see what I mean?</said>
<lb n="060409"/><said who="sid">―O, that be damned for a story,</said> Mr Dedalus said. <said who="sid">Pullman car and saloon
<lb n="060410"/><distinct type="nonstandard-compound">diningroom</distinct>.</said>
<lb n="060411"/><said who="jp">―A poor lookout for Corny,</said> Mr Power added.
<lb n="060412"/><said who="lb">―Why?</said> Mr Bloom asked, turning to Mr Dedalus. <said who="lb">Wouldn't it be more
<lb n="060413"/>decent than galloping two abreast?</said>
<lb n="060414"/><said who="sid">―Well, there's something in that,</said> Mr Dedalus granted.
<lb n="060415"/><said who="mc">―And,</said> Martin Cunningham said, <said who="mc">we wouldn't have scenes like that when
<lb n="060416"/>the hearse capsized round Dunphy's and upset the coffin on to the road.</said>
<lb n="060417"/><said who="jp">―That was terrible,</said> Mr Power's shocked face said, <said who="jp">and the corpse fell
<lb n="060418"/>about the road. Terrible!</said>
<lb n="060419"/><said who="sid">―First round Dunphy's,</said> Mr Dedalus said, nodding. <said who="sid">Gordon Bennett cup.</said>
<lb n="060420"/><said who="mc">―Praises be to God!</said> Martin Cunningham said piously.</p>
<p><lb n="060421"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">Bom! Upset.</said> A coffin bumped out on to the road. <said who="lb" aloud="false">Burst open.</said> Paddy
<lb n="060422"/>Dignam shot out and rolling over stiff in the dust in a brown habit too large
<lb n="060423"/>for him. <said who="lb" aloud="false">Red face: grey now. Mouth fallen open. Asking what's up now.
<lb n="060424"/>Quite right to close it. Looks horrid open. Then the insides decompose
<lb n="060425"/>quickly. Much better to close up all the orifices. Yes, also. With wax. The
<lb n="060426"/>sphincter loose. Seal up all.</said>
<lb n="060427"/><said who="jp">―Dunphy's,</said> Mr Power announced as the carriage turned right.</p>
<p><lb n="060428"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">Dunphy's corner. Mourning coaches drawn up, drowning their grief.
<lb n="060429"/>A pause by the wayside. Tiptop position for a pub. Expect we'll pull up here
<lb n="060430"/>on the way back to drink his health. Pass round the consolation. Elixir of
<lb n="060431"/>life.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060432"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">But suppose now it did happen. Would he bleed if a nail say cut him in
<lb n="060433"/>the knocking about? He would and he wouldn't, I suppose. Depends on
<lb n="060434"/>where. The circulation stops. Still some might ooze out of an artery. It
<lb n="060435"/>would be better to bury them in red: a dark red.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060436"/>In silence they drove along Phibsborough road. An empty hearse
<lb n="060437"/>trotted by, coming from the cemetery: <said who="lb" aloud="false">looks relieved.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060438"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">Crossguns bridge: the royal canal.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060439"/>Water rushed roaring through the sluices. A man stood on his
<lb n="060440"/>dropping barge, between clamps of turf. On the towpath by the lock a
<lb n="060441"/><distinct type="nonstandard-compound">slacktethered</distinct> horse. <said who="lb" aloud="false">Aboard of the <name type="ship">Bugabu</name>.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060442"/>Their eyes watched him. On the slow weedy waterway he had floated
<lb n="060443"/>on his raft coastward over Ireland drawn by a haulage rope past beds of
<lb n="060444"/>reeds, over slime, <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">mudchoked</distinct> bottles, carrion dogs. <said who="lb" aloud="false">Athlone, Mullingar,
<lb n="060445"/>Moyvalley, I could make a walking tour to see Milly by the canal. Or cycle
<lb n="060446"/>down. Hire some old crock, safety. Wren had one the other day at the
<lb n="060447"/>auction but a lady's. Developing waterways. James M'Cann's hobby to row
<lb n="060448"/>me o'er the ferry. Cheaper transit. By easy stages. Houseboats. Camping
<lb n="060449"/>out. Also hearses. To heaven by water. Perhaps I will without writing.
<lb n="060450"/>Come as a surprise, Leixlip, Clonsilla. Dropping down lock by lock to
<lb n="060451"/>Dublin. With turf from the midland bogs. Salute. He lifted his brown straw
<lb n="060452"/>hat, saluting Paddy Dignam.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060453"/>They drove on past Brian Boroimhe house. <said who="lb" aloud="false">Near it now.</said>
<lb n="060454"/><said who="jp">―I wonder how is our friend Fogarty getting on,</said> Mr Power said.
<lb n="060455"/><said who="sid">―Better ask Tom Kernan,</said> Mr Dedalus said.
<lb n="060456"/><said who="mc">―How is that?</said> Martin Cunningham said. <said who="mc">Left him weeping, I suppose?</said>
<lb n="060457"/><said who="sid">―Though lost to sight,</said> Mr Dedalus said, <said who="sid">to memory dear.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060458"/>The carriage steered left for Finglas road.</p>
<p><lb n="060459"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">The stonecutter's yard on the right. Last lap. Crowded on the spit of
<lb n="060460"/>land silent shapes appeared, white, sorrowful, holding out calm hands, knelt
<lb n="060461"/>in grief, pointing. Fragments of shapes, hewn. In white silence: appealing.
<lb n="060462"/>The best obtainable. Thos. H. Dennany, monumental builder and sculptor.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060463"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">Passed.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060464"/>On the curbstone before Jimmy Geary, the sexton's, an old tramp sat,
<lb n="060465"/>grumbling, emptying the dirt and stones out of his huge <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">dustbrown</distinct>
<lb n="060466"/>yawning boot. <said who="lb" aloud="false">After life's journey.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060467"/>Gloomy gardens then went by: <said who="lb" aloud="false">one by one: gloomy houses.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060468"/>Mr Power pointed.
<lb n="060469"/><said who="jp">―That is where Childs was murdered,</said> he said. <said who="jp">The last house.</said>
<lb n="060470"/><said who="sid">―So it is,</said> Mr Dedalus said. <said who="sid">A gruesome case. Seymour Bushe got him off.
<lb n="060471"/>Murdered his brother. Or so they said.</said>
<lb n="060472"/><said who="jp">―The crown had no evidence,</said> Mr Power said.
<lb n="060473"/><said who="mc">―Only circumstantial,</said> Martin Cunningham added. <said who="mc">That's the maxim of
<lb n="060474"/>the law. Better for <distinct type="compound">ninetynine</distinct> guilty to escape than for one innocent person
<lb n="060475"/>to be wrongfully condemned.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060476"/>They looked. <said who="lb" aloud="false">Murderer's ground. It passed darkly. Shuttered,
<lb n="060477"/>tenantless, unweeded garden. Whole place gone to hell. Wrongfully
<lb n="060478"/>condemned. Murder. The murderer's image in the eye of the murdered.
<lb n="060479"/>They love reading about it. Man's head found in a garden. Her clothing
<lb n="060480"/>consisted of. How she met her death. Recent outrage. The weapon used.
<lb n="060481"/>Murderer is still at large. Clues. A shoelace. The body to be exhumed.
<lb n="060482"/>Murder will out.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060483"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">Cramped in this carriage. She mightn't like me to come that way
<lb n="060484"/>without letting her know. Must be careful about women. Catch them once
<lb n="060485"/>with their pants down. Never forgive you after. Fifteen.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060486"/>The high railings of Prospect rippled past their gaze. Dark poplars,
<lb n="060487"/>rare white forms. Forms more frequent, white shapes thronged amid the
<lb n="060488"/>trees, white forms and fragments streaming by mutely, sustaining vain
<lb n="060489"/>gestures on the air.</p>
<p><lb n="060490"/>The <distinct type="dialect">felly</distinct> harshed against the curbstone: <said who="lb" aloud="false">stopped.</said> Martin
<lb n="060491"/>Cunningham put out his arm and, wrenching back the handle, shoved the
<lb n="060492"/>door open with his knee. He stepped out. Mr Power and Mr Dedalus
<lb n="060493"/>followed.</p>
<p><lb n="060494"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">Change that soap now.</said> Mr Bloom's hand unbuttoned his hip pocket
<lb n="060495"/>swiftly and transferred the <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">paperstuck</distinct> soap to his inner handkerchief
<lb n="060496"/>pocket. He stepped out of the carriage, replacing the newspaper his other
<lb n="060497"/>hand still held.</p>
<p><lb n="060498"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">Paltry funeral: coach and three carriages. It's all the same.
<lb n="060499"/>Pallbearers, gold reins, requiem mass, firing a volley. Pomp of death.
<lb n="060500"/>Beyond the hind carriage a hawker stood by his barrow of cakes and fruit.
<lb n="060501"/>Simnel cakes those are, stuck together: cakes for the dead. <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">Dogbiscuits</distinct>.
<lb n="060502"/>Who ate them? Mourners coming out.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060503"/>He followed his companions. Mr Kernan and Ned Lambert followed,
<lb n="060504"/>Hynes walking after them. Corny Kelleher stood by the opened hearse and
<lb n="060505"/>took out the two wreaths. He handed one to the boy.</p>
<p><lb n="060506"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">Where is that child's funeral disappeared to?</said></p>
<p><lb n="060507"/>A team of horses passed from Finglas with toiling plodding tread,
<lb n="060508"/>dragging through the funereal silence a creaking waggon on which lay a
<lb n="060509"/>granite block. The waggoner marching at their head saluted. <said who="lb" aloud="false">Coffin now.
<lb n="060510"/>Got here before us, dead as he is. Horse looking round at it with his plume
<lb n="060511"/><distinct type="Joycean">skeowways</distinct>. Dull eye: collar tight on his neck, pressing on a <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">bloodvessel</distinct> or
<lb n="060512"/>something. Do they know what they cart out here every day? Must be
<lb n="060513"/>twenty or thirty funerals every day. Then Mount Jerome for the
<lb n="060514"/>protestants. Funerals all over the world everywhere every minute.
<lb n="060515"/>Shovelling them under by the cartload <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">doublequick</distinct>. Thousands every hour.
<lb n="060516"/>Too many in the world.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060517"/>Mourners came out through the gates: <said who="lb" aloud="false">woman and a girl. <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">Leanjawed</distinct>
<lb n="060518"/>harpy, hard woman at a bargain, her bonnet awry. Girl's face stained with
<lb n="060519"/>dirt and tears, holding the woman's arm, looking up at her for a sign to cry.
<lb n="060520"/>Fish's face, bloodless and livid.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060521"/>The mutes shouldered the coffin and bore it in through the gates. <said who="lb" aloud="false">So
<lb n="060522"/>much dead weight. Felt heavier myself stepping out of that bath. First the
<lb n="060523"/>stiff: then the friends of the stiff. Corny Kelleher and the boy followed with
<lb n="060524"/>their wreaths. Who is that beside them? Ah, the brother-in-law.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060525"/>All walked after.</p>
<p><lb n="060526"/>Martin Cunningham whispered:
<lb n="060527"/><said who="mc">―I was in mortal agony with you talking of suicide before Bloom.</said>
<lb n="060528"/><said who="jp">―What?</said> Mr Power whispered. <said who="jp">How so?</said>
<lb n="060529"/><said who="mc">―His father poisoned himself,</said> Martin Cunningham whispered. <said who="mc">Had the
<lb n="060530"/>Queen's hotel in Ennis. You heard him say he was going to Clare.
<lb n="060531"/>Anniversary.</said>
<lb n="060532"/><said who="jp">―O God!</said> Mr Power whispered. <said who="jp">First I heard of it. Poisoned himself?</said></p>
<p><lb n="060533"/>He glanced behind him to where a face with dark thinking eyes
<lb n="060534"/>followed towards the cardinal's mausoleum. <said who="lb" aloud="false">Speaking.</said>
<lb n="060535"/><said who="lb">―Was he insured?</said> Mr Bloom asked.
<lb n="060536"/><said who="tk">―I believe so,</said> Mr Kernan answered. <said who="tk">But the policy was heavily mortgaged.
<lb n="060537"/>Martin is trying to get the youngster into Artane.</said>
<lb n="060538"/><said who="lb">―How many children did he leave?</said>
<lb n="060539"/><said who="tk">―Five. Ned Lambert says he'll try to get one of the girls into Todd's.</said>
<lb n="060540"/><said who="lb">―A sad case,</said> Mr Bloom said gently. <said who="lb">Five young children.</said>
<lb n="060541"/><said who="tk">―A great blow to the poor wife,</said> Mr Kernan added.
<lb n="060542"/><said who="lb">―Indeed yes,</said> Mr Bloom agreed.</p>
<p><lb n="060543"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">Has the laugh at him now.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060544"/>He looked down at the boots he had blacked and polished. <said who="lb" aloud="false">She had
<lb n="060545"/>outlived him. Lost her husband. More dead for her than for me. One must
<lb n="060546"/>outlive the other. Wise men say. There are more women than men in the
<lb n="060547"/>world. Condole with her. Your terrible loss. I hope you'll soon follow him.
<lb n="060548"/>For Hindu widows only. She would marry another. Him? No. Yet who
<lb n="060549"/>knows after. Widowhood not the thing since the old queen died. Drawn on
<lb n="060550"/>a <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">guncarriage</distinct>. Victoria and Albert. Frogmore memorial mourning. But in
<lb n="060551"/>the end she put a few violets in her bonnet. Vain in her heart of hearts. All
<lb n="060552"/>for a shadow. Consort not even a king. Her son was the substance.
<lb n="060553"/>Something new to hope for not like the past she wanted back, waiting. It
<lb n="060554"/>never comes. One must go first: alone, under the ground: and lie no more
<lb n="060555"/>in her warm bed.</said>
<lb n="060556"/><said who="nl">―How are you, Simon?</said> Ned Lambert said softly, clasping hands. <said who="nl">Haven't
<lb n="060557"/>seen you for a month of Sundays.</said>
<lb n="060558"/><said who="sid">―Never better. How are all in Cork's own town?</said>
<lb n="060559"/><said who="nl">―I was down there for the Cork park races on Easter Monday,</said> Ned
<lb n="060560"/>Lambert said. <said who="nl">Same old six and <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">eightpence</distinct>. Stopped with Dick Tivy.</said>
<lb n="060561"/><said who="sid">―And how is Dick, the solid man?</said>
<lb n="060562"/><said who="nl">―Nothing between himself and heaven,</said> Ned Lambert answered.
<lb n="060563"/><said who="sid">―By the holy Paul!</said> Mr Dedalus said in subdued wonder. <said who="sid">Dick Tivy bald?</said>
<lb n="060564"/><said who="nl">―Martin is going to get up a whip for the youngsters,</said> Ned Lambert said,
<lb n="060565"/>pointing ahead. <said who="nl">A few bob a skull. Just to keep them going till the insurance
<lb n="060566"/>is cleared up.</said>
<lb n="060567"/><said who="sid">―Yes, yes,</said> Mr Dedalus said dubiously. <said who="sid">Is that the eldest boy in front?</said>
<lb n="060568"/><said who="nl">―Yes,</said> Ned Lambert said, <said who="nl">with the wife's brother. John Henry Menton is
<lb n="060569"/>behind. He put down his name for a quid.</said>
<lb n="060570"/><said who="sid">―I'll engage he did,</said> Mr Dedalus said. <said who="sid">I often told poor Paddy he ought to
<lb n="060571"/>mind that job. John Henry is not the worst in the world.</said>
<lb n="060572"/><said who="nl">―How did he lose it?</said> Ned Lambert asked. <said who="nl">Liquor, what?</said>
<lb n="060573"/><said who="sid">―Many a good man's fault,</said> Mr Dedalus said with a sigh.</p>
<p><lb n="060574"/>They halted about the door of the mortuary chapel. Mr Bloom stood
<lb n="060575"/>behind the boy with the wreath looking down at his <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">sleekcombed</distinct> hair and
<lb n="060576"/>at the slender furrowed neck inside his <distinct type="compound">brandnew</distinct> collar. <said who="lb" aloud="false">Poor boy! Was he
<lb n="060577"/>there when the father? Both unconscious. Lighten up at the last moment
<lb n="060578"/>and recognise for the last time. All he might have done. I owe three shillings
<lb n="060579"/>to O'Grady. Would he understand? The mutes bore the coffin into the
<lb n="060580"/>chapel. Which end is his head?</said></p>
<p><lb n="060581"/>After a moment he followed the others in, blinking in the screened
<lb n="060582"/>light. The coffin lay on its bier before the chancel, four tall yellow candles at
<lb n="060583"/>its corners. <said who="lb" aloud="false">Always in front of us.</said> Corny Kelleher, laying a wreath at each
<lb n="060584"/>fore corner, beckoned to the boy to kneel. The mourners knelt here and
<lb n="060585"/>there in <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">prayingdesks</distinct>. Mr Bloom stood behind near the font and, when all
<lb n="060586"/>had knelt, dropped carefully his unfolded newspaper from his pocket and
<lb n="060587"/>knelt his right knee upon it. He fitted his black hat gently on his left knee
<lb n="060588"/>and, holding its brim, bent over piously.</p>
<p><lb n="060589"/>A server bearing a brass bucket with something in it came out through
<lb n="060590"/>a door. The <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">whitesmocked</distinct> priest came after him, tidying his stole with one
<lb n="060591"/>hand, balancing with the other a little book against his toad's belly. <said who="lb" aloud="false">Who'll
<lb n="060592"/>read the book? I, said the rook.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060593"/>They halted by the bier and the priest began to read out of his book
<lb n="060594"/>with a fluent croak.</p>
<p><lb n="060595"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">Father Coffey. I knew his name was like a coffin. <distinct type="Joycean">Dominenamine</distinct>.
<lb n="060596"/>Bully about the muzzle he looks. Bosses the show. Muscular christian. Woe
<lb n="060597"/>betide anyone that looks crooked at him: priest. Thou art Peter. Burst
<lb n="060598"/>sideways like a sheep in clover Dedalus says he will. With a belly on him
<lb n="060599"/>like a poisoned pup. Most amusing expressions that man finds. Hhhn: burst
<lb n="060600"/>sideways.</said>
<lb n="060601"/><said who="frc">―<foreign xml:lang="la">Non intres in judicium cum servo tuo, Domine.</foreign></said></p>
<p><lb n="060602"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">Makes them feel more important to be prayed over in Latin. Requiem
<lb n="060603"/>mass. Crape weepers. <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">Blackedged</distinct> notepaper. Your name on the <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">altarlist</distinct>.
<lb n="060604"/>Chilly place this. Want to feed well, sitting in there all the morning in the
<lb n="060605"/>gloom kicking his heels waiting for the next please. Eyes of a toad too.
<lb n="060606"/>What swells him up that way? Molly gets swelled after cabbage. Air of the
<lb n="060607"/>place maybe. Looks full up of bad gas. Must be an infernal lot of bad gas
<lb n="060608"/>round the place. Butchers, for instance: they get like raw beefsteaks. Who
<lb n="060609"/>was telling me? Mervyn Browne. Down in the vaults of saint Werburgh's
<lb n="060610"/>lovely old organ hundred and fifty they have to bore a hole in the coffins
<lb n="060611"/>sometimes to let out the bad gas and burn it. Out it rushes: blue. One whiff
<lb n="060612"/>of that and you're a <distinct type="dialect">doner</distinct>.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060613"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">My kneecap is hurting me. Ow. That's better.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060614"/>The priest took a stick with a knob at the end of it out of the boy's
<lb n="060615"/>bucket and shook it over the coffin. Then he walked to the other end and
<lb n="060616"/>shook it again. Then he came back and put it back in the bucket. <said who="lb" aloud="false">As you
<lb n="060617"/>were before you rested. It's all written down: he has to do it.</said>
<lb n="060618"/><said who="frc">―<foreign xml:lang="la">Et ne nos inducas in tentationem.</foreign></said></p>
<p><lb n="060619"/>The server piped the answers in the treble. <said who="lb" aloud="false">I often thought it would be
<lb n="060620"/>better to have boy servants. Up to fifteen or so. After that, of course ...</said></p>
<p><lb n="060621"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">Holy water that was, I expect. Shaking sleep out of it. He must be fed
<lb n="060622"/>up with that job, shaking that thing over all the corpses they trot up. What
<lb n="060623"/>harm if he could see what he was shaking it over. Every mortal day a fresh
<lb n="060624"/>batch: <distinct type="compound">middleaged</distinct> men, old women, children, women dead in childbirth,
<lb n="060625"/>men with beards, baldheaded businessmen, consumptive girls with little
<lb n="060626"/>sparrows' breasts. All the year round he prayed the same thing over them
<lb n="060627"/>all and shook water on top of them: sleep. On Dignam now.</said>
<lb n="060628"/><said who="frc">―<foreign xml:lang="la">In paradisum.</foreign></said></p>
<p><lb n="060629"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">Said he was going to paradise or is in paradise. Says that over
<lb n="060630"/>everybody. Tiresome kind of a job. But he has to say something.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060631"/>The priest closed his book and went off, followed by the server.
<lb n="060632"/>Corny Kelleher opened the <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">sidedoors</distinct> and the gravediggers came in, hoisted
<lb n="060633"/>the coffin again, carried it out and shoved it on their cart. Corny Kelleher
<lb n="060634"/>gave one wreath to the boy and one to the brother-in-law. All followed
<lb n="060635"/>them out of the <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">sidedoors</distinct> into the mild grey air. Mr Bloom came last
<lb n="060636"/>folding his paper again into his pocket. He gazed gravely at the ground till
<lb n="060637"/>the <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">coffincart</distinct> wheeled off to the left. The metal wheels ground the gravel
<lb n="060638"/>with a sharp grating cry and the pack of blunt boots followed the trundled
<lb n="060639"/>barrow along a lane of sepulchres.</p>
<p><lb n="060640"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">The ree the ra the ree the ra the roo. Lord, I mustn't lilt here.</said>
<lb n="060641"/><said who="sid">―The O'Connell circle,</said> Mr Dedalus said about him.</p>
<p><lb n="060642"/>Mr Power's soft eyes went up to the apex of the lofty cone.
<lb n="060643"/><said who="jp">―He's at rest,</said> he said, <said who="jp">in the middle of his people, old Dan O'. But his heart
<lb n="060644"/>is buried in Rome. How many broken hearts are buried here, Simon!</said>
<lb n="060645"/><said who="sid">―Her grave is over there, Jack,</said> Mr Dedalus said. <said who="sid">I'll soon be stretched
<lb n="060646"/>beside her. Let Him take me whenever He likes.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060647"/>Breaking down, he began to weep to himself quietly, stumbling a little
<lb n="060648"/>in his walk. Mr Power took his arm.
<lb n="060649"/><said who="jp">―She's better where she is,</said> he said kindly.
<lb n="060650"/><said who="sid">―I suppose so,</said> Mr Dedalus said with a weak gasp. <said who="sid">I suppose she is in
<lb n="060651"/>heaven if there is a heaven.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060652"/>Corny Kelleher stepped aside from his rank and allowed the
<lb n="060653"/>mourners to plod by.
<lb n="060654"/><said who="tk">―Sad occasions,</said> Mr Kernan began politely.</p>
<p><lb n="060655"/>Mr Bloom closed his eyes and sadly twice bowed his head.
<lb n="060656"/><said who="tk">―The others are putting on their hats,</said> Mr Kernan said. <said who="tk">I suppose we can
<lb n="060657"/>do so too. We are the last. This cemetery is a treacherous place.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060658"/>They covered their heads.
<lb n="060659"/><said who="tk">―The reverend gentleman read the service too quickly, don't you think?</said> Mr
<lb n="060660"/>Kernan said with reproof.</p>
<p><lb n="060661"/>Mr Bloom nodded gravely looking in the quick bloodshot eyes. <said who="lb" aloud="false">Secret
<lb n="060662"/>eyes, <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">secretsearching</distinct>. Mason, I think: not sure. Beside him again. We are
<lb n="060663"/>the last. In the same boat. Hope he'll say something else.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060664"/>Mr Kernan added:
<lb n="060665"/><said who="tk">―The service of the Irish church used in Mount Jerome is simpler, more
<lb n="060666"/>impressive I must say.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060667"/>Mr Bloom gave prudent assent. <said who="lb" aloud="false">The language of course was another
<lb n="060668"/>thing.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060669"/>Mr Kernan said with solemnity:
<lb n="060670"/><said who="tk">―<quote>I am the resurrection and the life.</quote> That touches a man's inmost heart.</said>
<lb n="060671"/><said who="lb">―It does,</said> Mr Bloom said.</p>
<p><lb n="060672"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">Your heart perhaps but what price the fellow in the six feet by two
<lb n="060673"/>with his toes to the daisies? No touching that. Seat of the affections. Broken
<lb n="060674"/>heart. A pump after all, pumping thousands of gallons of blood every day.
<lb n="060675"/>One fine day it gets bunged up: and there you are. Lots of them lying
<lb n="060676"/>around here: lungs, hearts, livers. Old rusty pumps: damn the thing else.
<lb n="060677"/>The resurrection and the life. Once you are dead you are dead. That last
<lb n="060678"/>day idea. Knocking them all up out of their graves. Come forth, Lazarus!
<lb n="060679"/>And he came fifth and lost the job. Get up! Last day! Then every fellow
<lb n="060680"/>mousing around for his liver and his lights and the rest of his traps. Find
<lb n="060681"/>damn all of himself that morning. Pennyweight of powder in a skull.
<lb n="060682"/>Twelve grammes one pennyweight. Troy measure.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060683"/>Corny Kelleher fell into step at their side.
<lb n="060684"/><said who="ck">―Everything went off A 1,</said> he said. <said who="ck">What?</said></p>
<p><lb n="060685"/>He looked on them from his drawling eye. <said who="lb" aloud="false">Policeman's shoulders.
<lb n="060686"/>With your tooraloom tooraloom.</said>
<lb n="060687"/><said who="tk">―As it should be,</said> Mr Kernan said.
<lb n="060688"/><said who="ck">―What? Eh?</said> Corny Kelleher said.</p>
<p><lb n="060689"/>Mr Kernan assured him.
<lb n="060690"/><said who="jhm">―Who is that chap behind with Tom Kernan?</said> John Henry Menton asked. <said who="jhm">I
<lb n="060691"/>know his face.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060692"/>Ned Lambert glanced back.
<lb n="060693"/><said who="nl">―Bloom,</said> he said, <said who="nl">Madame Marion Tweedy that was, is, I mean, the
<lb n="060694"/>soprano. She's his wife.</said>
<lb n="060695"/><said who="jhm">―O, to be sure,</said> John Henry Menton said. <said who="jhm">I haven't seen her for some time.
<lb n="060696"/>She was a <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">finelooking</distinct> woman. I danced with her, wait, fifteen seventeen
<lb n="060697"/>golden years ago, at Mat Dillon's in Roundtown. And a good armful she
<lb n="060698"/>was.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060699"/>He looked behind through the others.
<lb n="060700"/><said who="jhm">―What is he?</said> he asked. <said who="jhm">What does he do? Wasn't he in the stationery line?
<lb n="060701"/>I fell foul of him one evening, I remember, at bowls.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060702"/>Ned Lambert smiled.
<lb n="060703"/><said who="nl">―Yes, he was,</said> he said, <said who="nl">in Wisdom Hely's. A traveller for <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">blottingpaper</distinct>.</said>
<lb n="060704"/><said who="jhm">―In God's name,</said> John Henry Menton said, <said who="jhm">what did she marry a coon like
<lb n="060705"/>that for? She had plenty of game in her then.</said>
<lb n="060706"/><said who="nl">―Has still,</said> Ned Lambert said. <said who="nl">He does some canvassing for ads.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060707"/>John Henry Menton's large eyes stared ahead.</p>
<p><lb n="060708"/>The barrow turned into a side lane. A portly man, ambushed among
<lb n="060709"/>the grasses, raised his hat in homage. The gravediggers touched their caps.
<lb n="060710"/><said who="jp">―John O'Connell,</said> Mr Power said pleased. <said who="jp">He never forgets a friend.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060711"/>Mr O'Connell shook all their hands in silence. Mr Dedalus said:
<lb n="060712"/><said who="sid">―I am come to pay you another visit.</said>
<lb n="060713"/><said who="joc">―My dear Simon,</said> the caretaker answered in a low voice. <said who="joc">I don't want your
<lb n="060714"/>custom at all.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060715"/>Saluting Ned Lambert and John Henry Menton he walked on at
<lb n="060716"/>Martin Cunningham's side puzzling two long keys at his back.
<lb n="060717"/><said who="joc">―Did you hear that one,</said> he asked them, <said who="joc">about Mulcahy from the Coombe?</said>
<lb n="060718"/><said who="mc">―I did not,</said> Martin Cunningham said.</p>
<p><lb n="060719"/>They bent their silk hats in concert and Hynes inclined his ear. The
<lb n="060720"/>caretaker hung his thumbs in the loops of his gold <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">watchchain</distinct> and spoke in
<lb n="060721"/>a discreet tone to their vacant smiles.
<lb n="060722"/><said who="joc">―They tell the story,</said> he said, <said who="joc">that two drunks came out here one foggy
<lb n="060723"/>evening to look for the grave of a friend of theirs. They asked for Mulcahy
<lb n="060724"/>from the Coombe and were told where he was buried. After traipsing about
<lb n="060725"/>in the fog they found the grave sure enough. One of the drunks spelt out the
<lb n="060726"/>name: Terence Mulcahy. The other drunk was blinking up at a statue of
<lb n="060727"/>Our Saviour the widow had got put up.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060728"/>The caretaker blinked up at one of the sepulchres they passed. He
<lb n="060729"/>resumed:
<lb n="060730"/><said who="joc">―And, after blinking up at the sacred figure, <said who="udr" rend="italics">Not a bloody bit like the man</said>,
<lb n="060731"/>says he. <said who="udr" rend="italics">That's not Mulcahy</said>, says he, <said who="udr" rend="italics">whoever done it</said>.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060732"/>Rewarded by smiles he fell back and spoke with Corny Kelleher,
<lb n="060733"/>accepting the dockets given him, turning them over and scanning them as he
<lb n="060734"/>walked.
<lb n="060735"/><said who="mc">―That's all done with a purpose,</said> Martin Cunningham explained to Hynes.
<lb n="060736"/><said who="jh">―I know,</said> Hynes said. <said who="jh">I know that.</said>
<lb n="060737"/><said who="mc">―To cheer a fellow up,</said> Martin Cunningham said. <said who="mc">It's pure good-
<lb n="060738"/>heartedness: damn the thing else.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060739"/>Mr Bloom admired the caretaker's prosperous bulk. <said who="lb" aloud="false">All want to be on
<lb n="060740"/>good terms with him. Decent fellow, John O'Connell, real good sort. Keys:
<lb n="060741"/>like Keyes's ad: no fear of anyone getting out. No <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">passout</distinct> checks. <foreign xml:lang="la">Habeas
<lb n="060742"/>corpus.</foreign> I must see about that ad after the funeral. Did I write Ballsbridge on
<lb n="060743"/>the envelope I took to cover when she disturbed me writing to Martha?
<lb n="060744"/>Hope it's not chucked in the dead letter office. Be the better of a shave. Grey
<lb n="060745"/>sprouting beard. That's the first sign when the hairs come out grey. And
<lb n="060746"/>temper getting cross. Silver threads among the grey. Fancy being his wife.
<lb n="060747"/>Wonder he had the gumption to propose to any girl. Come out and live in
<lb n="060748"/>the graveyard. Dangle that before her. It might thrill her first. Courting
<lb n="060749"/>death. Shades of night hovering here with all the dead stretched about. The
<lb n="060750"/>shadows of the tombs when churchyards yawn and Daniel O'Connell must
<lb n="060751"/>be a descendant I suppose who is this used to say he was a queer breedy
<lb n="060752"/>man great catholic all the same like a big giant in the dark. Will o' the wisp.
<lb n="060753"/>Gas of graves. Want to keep her mind off it to conceive at all. Women
<lb n="060754"/>especially are so touchy. Tell her a ghost story in bed to make her sleep.
<lb n="060755"/>Have you ever seen a ghost? Well, I have. It was a <distinct type="compound">pitchdark</distinct> night. The
<lb n="060756"/>clock was on the stroke of twelve. Still they'd kiss all right if properly keyed
<lb n="060757"/>up. Whores in Turkish graveyards. Learn anything if taken young. You
<lb n="060758"/>might pick up a young widow here. Men like that. Love among the
<lb n="060759"/>tombstones. Romeo. Spice of pleasure. In the midst of death we are in life.
<lb n="060760"/>Both ends meet. Tantalising for the poor dead. Smell of grilled beefsteaks to
<lb n="060761"/>the starving. Gnawing their vitals. Desire to <distinct type="dialect">grig</distinct> people. Molly wanting to
<lb n="060762"/>do it at the window. Eight children he has anyway.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060763"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">He has seen a fair share go under in his time, lying around him field
<lb n="060764"/>after field. Holy fields. More room if they buried them standing. Sitting or
<lb n="060765"/>kneeling you couldn't. Standing? His head might come up some day above
<lb n="060766"/>ground in a landslip with his hand pointing. All honeycombed the ground
<lb n="060767"/>must be: oblong cells. And very neat he keeps it too: trim grass and edgings.
<lb n="060768"/>His garden Major Gamble calls Mount Jerome. Well, so it is. Ought to be
<lb n="060769"/>flowers of sleep. Chinese cemeteries with giant poppies growing produce the
<lb n="060770"/>best opium Mastiansky told me. The Botanic Gardens are just over there.
<lb n="060771"/>It's the blood sinking in the earth gives new life. Same idea those jews they
<lb n="060772"/>said killed the christian boy. Every man his price. Well preserved fat corpse,
<lb n="060773"/>gentleman, epicure, invaluable for fruit garden. A bargain. By carcass of
<lb n="060774"/>William Wilkinson, auditor and accountant, lately deceased, three pounds
<lb n="060775"/>thirteen and six. With thanks.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060776"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">I daresay the soil would be quite fat with <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">corpsemanure</distinct>, bones, flesh,
<lb n="060777"/>nails. <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">Charnelhouses</distinct>. Dreadful. Turning green and pink decomposing. Rot
<lb n="060778"/>quick in damp earth. The lean old ones tougher. Then a kind of a tallowy
<lb n="060779"/>kind of a cheesy. Then begin to get black, black treacle oozing out of them.
<lb n="060780"/>Then dried up. <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">Deathmoths</distinct>. Of course the cells or whatever they are go on
<lb n="060781"/>living. Changing about. Live for ever practically. Nothing to feed on feed
<lb n="060782"/>on themselves.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060783"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">But they must breed a devil of a lot of maggots. Soil must be simply
<lb n="060784"/>swirling with them. Your head it simply swurls. Those pretty little seaside
<lb n="060785"/>gurls. He looks cheerful enough over it. Gives him a sense of power seeing
<lb n="060786"/>all the others go under first. Wonder how he looks at life. Cracking his
<lb n="060787"/>jokes too: warms the cockles of his heart. The one about the bulletin.
<lb n="060788"/>Spurgeon went to heaven 4 a.m. this morning. 11 p.m. (closing time). Not
<lb n="060789"/>arrived yet. Peter. The dead themselves the men anyhow would like to hear
<lb n="060790"/>an odd joke or the women to know what's in fashion. A juicy pear or
<lb n="060791"/>ladies' punch, hot, strong and sweet. Keep out the damp. You must laugh
<lb n="060792"/>sometimes so better do it that way. Gravediggers in <title type="play">Hamlet</title>. Shows the
<lb n="060793"/>profound knowledge of the human heart. Daren't joke about the dead for
<lb n="060794"/>two years at least. <foreign xml:lang="la">De mortuis nil nisi prius.</foreign> Go out of mourning first. Hard
<lb n="060795"/>to imagine his funeral. Seems a sort of a joke. Read your own obituary
<lb n="060796"/>notice they say you live longer. Gives you second wind. New lease of life.</said>
<lb n="060797"/><said who="joc">―How many have you for tomorrow?</said> the caretaker asked.
<lb n="060798"/><said who="ck">―Two,</said> Corny Kelleher said. <said who="ck">Half ten and eleven.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060799"/>The caretaker put the papers in his pocket. The barrow had ceased to
<lb n="060800"/>trundle. The mourners split and moved to each side of the hole, stepping
<lb n="060801"/>with care round the graves. The gravediggers bore the coffin and set its nose
<lb n="060802"/>on the brink, looping the bands round it.</p>
<p><lb n="060803"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">Burying him. We come to bury Caesar. His ides of March or June.
<lb n="060804"/>He doesn't know who is here nor care.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060805"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">Now who is that <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">lankylooking</distinct> galoot over there in the macintosh?
<lb n="060806"/>Now who is he I'd like to know? Now I'd give a trifle to know who he is.
<lb n="060807"/>Always someone turns up you never dreamt of. A fellow could live on his
<lb n="060808"/>lonesome all his life. Yes, he could. Still he'd have to get someone to sod him
<lb n="060809"/>after he died though he could dig his own grave. We all do. Only man
<lb n="060810"/>buries. No, ants too. First thing strikes anybody. Bury the dead. Say
<lb n="060811"/>Robinson Crusoe was true to life. Well then Friday buried him. Every
<lb n="060812"/>Friday buries a Thursday if you come to look at it.</said></p>
<quote><lg rend="italics"><lb n="060813"/><said who="lb" aloud="false"><l>O, poor Robinson Crusoe!</l>
<lb n="060814"/><l>How could you possibly do so?</l></said></lg></quote>
<p><lb n="060815"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">Poor Dignam! His last lie on the earth in his box. When you think of
<lb n="060816"/>them all it does seem a waste of wood. All gnawed through. They could
<lb n="060817"/>invent a handsome bier with a kind of panel sliding, let it down that way.
<lb n="060818"/>Ay but they might object to be buried out of another fellow's. They're so
<lb n="060819"/>particular. Lay me in my native earth. Bit of clay from the holy land. Only a
<lb n="060820"/>mother and <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">deadborn</distinct> child ever buried in the one coffin. I see what it
<lb n="060821"/>means. I see. To protect him as long as possible even in the earth. The
<lb n="060822"/>Irishman's house is his coffin. Embalming in catacombs, mummies the same
<lb n="060823"/>idea.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060824"/>Mr Bloom stood far back, his hat in his hand, counting the bared
<lb n="060825"/>heads. <said who="lb" aloud="false">Twelve. I'm thirteen. No. The chap in the macintosh is thirteen.
<lb n="060826"/>Death's number. Where the deuce did he pop out of? He wasn't in the
<lb n="060827"/>chapel, that I'll swear. Silly superstition that about thirteen.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060828"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">Nice soft tweed Ned Lambert has in that suit. Tinge of purple. I had
<lb n="060829"/>one like that when we lived in Lombard street west. Dressy fellow he was
<lb n="060830"/>once. Used to change three suits in the day. Must get that grey suit of mine
<lb n="060831"/>turned by Mesias. Hello. It's dyed. His wife I forgot he's not married or his
<lb n="060832"/>landlady ought to have picked out those threads for him.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060833"/>The coffin dived out of sight, eased down by the men straddled on the
<lb n="060834"/><distinct type="nonstandard-compound">gravetrestles</distinct>. They struggled up and out: <said who="lb" aloud="false">and all uncovered. Twenty.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060835"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">Pause.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060836"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">If we were all suddenly somebody else.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060837"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">Far away a donkey brayed. Rain. No such ass. Never see a dead one,
<lb n="060838"/>they say. Shame of death. They hide. Also poor papa went away.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060839"/>Gentle sweet air blew round the bared heads in a whisper. <said who="lb" aloud="false">Whisper.</said>
<lb n="060840"/>The boy by the <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">gravehead</distinct> held his wreath with both hands staring quietly
<lb n="060841"/>in the black open space. Mr Bloom moved behind the portly kindly
<lb n="060842"/>caretaker. <said who="lb" aloud="false"><distinct type="compound">Wellcut</distinct> frockcoat. Weighing them up perhaps to see which will
<lb n="060843"/>go next. Well, it is a long rest. Feel no more. It's the moment you feel. Must
<lb n="060844"/>be damned unpleasant. Can't believe it at first. Mistake must be: someone
<lb n="060845"/>else. Try the house opposite. Wait, I wanted to. I haven't yet. Then
<lb n="060846"/>darkened <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">deathchamber</distinct>. Light they want. Whispering around you. Would
<lb n="060847"/>you like to see a priest? Then rambling and wandering. Delirium all you hid
<lb n="060848"/>all your life. The death struggle. His sleep is not natural. Press his lower
<lb n="060849"/>eyelid. Watching is his nose pointed is his jaw sinking are the soles of his
<lb n="060850"/>feet yellow. Pull the pillow away and finish it off on the floor since he's
<lb n="060851"/>doomed. Devil in that picture of sinner's death showing him a woman.
<lb n="060852"/>Dying to embrace her in his shirt. Last act of <title type="opera">Lucia</title>. <quote>Shall I nevermore
<lb n="060853"/>behold thee?</quote> Bam! He expires. Gone at last. People talk about you a bit:
<lb n="060854"/>forget you. Don't forget to pray for him. Remember him in your prayers.
<lb n="060855"/>Even Parnell. Ivy day dying out. Then they follow: dropping into a hole,
<lb n="060856"/>one after the other.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060857"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">We are praying now for the repose of his soul. Hoping you're well
<lb n="060858"/>and not in hell. Nice change of air. Out of the <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">fryingpan</distinct> of life into the fire
<lb n="060859"/>of purgatory.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060860"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">Does he ever think of the hole waiting for himself? They say you do
<lb n="060861"/>when you shiver in the sun. Someone walking over it. Callboy's warning.
<lb n="060862"/>Near you. Mine over there towards Finglas, the plot I bought. Mamma,
<lb n="060863"/>poor mamma, and little Rudy.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060864"/>The gravediggers took up their spades and flung heavy clods of clay
<lb n="060865"/>in on the coffin. Mr Bloom turned away his face. <said who="lb" aloud="false">And if he was alive all the
<lb n="060866"/>time? Whew! By jingo, that would be awful! No, no: he is dead, of course.
<lb n="060867"/>Of course he is dead. Monday he died. They ought to have some law to
<lb n="060868"/>pierce the heart and make sure or an electric clock or a telephone in the
<lb n="060869"/>coffin and some kind of a canvas <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">airhole</distinct>. Flag of distress. Three days.
<lb n="060870"/>Rather long to keep them in summer. Just as well to get shut of them as
<lb n="060871"/>soon as you are sure there's no.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060872"/>The clay fell softer. <said who="lb" aloud="false">Begin to be forgotten. Out of sight, out of mind.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060873"/>The caretaker moved away a few paces and put on his hat. <said who="lb" aloud="false">Had
<lb n="060874"/>enough of it.</said> The mourners took heart of grace, one by one, covering
<lb n="060875"/>themselves without show. Mr Bloom put on his hat and saw the portly
<lb n="060876"/>figure make its way deftly through the maze of graves. Quietly, sure of his
<lb n="060877"/>ground, he traversed the dismal fields.</p>
<p><lb n="060878"/>Hynes jotting down something in his notebook. <said who="lb" aloud="false">Ah, the names. But he
<lb n="060879"/>knows them all. No: coming to me.</said>
<lb n="060880"/><said who="jh">―I am just taking the names,</said> Hynes said below his breath. <said who="jh">What is your
<lb n="060881"/>christian name? I'm not sure.</said>
<lb n="060882"/><said who="lb">―L,</said> Mr Bloom said. <said who="lb">Leopold. And you might put down M'Coy's name too.
<lb n="060883"/>He asked me to.</said>
<lb n="060884"/><said who="jh">―Charley,</said> Hynes said writing. <said who="jh">I know. He was on the <title type="newspaper">Freeman</title> once.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060885"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">So he was before he got the job in the morgue under Louis Byrne.
<lb n="060886"/>Good idea a postmortem for doctors. Find out what they imagine they
<lb n="060887"/>know. He died of a Tuesday. Got the run. <distinct type="archaism">Levanted</distinct> with the cash of a few
<lb n="060888"/>ads. Charley, you're my darling. That was why he asked me to. O well,
<lb n="060889"/>does no harm. I saw to that, M'Coy. Thanks, old chap: much obliged.
<lb n="060890"/>Leave him under an obligation: costs nothing.</said>
<lb n="060891"/><said who="jh">―And tell us,</said> Hynes said, <said who="jh">do you know that fellow in the, fellow was over
<lb n="060892"/>there in the ...</said></p>
<p><lb n="060893"/>He looked around.
<lb n="060894"/><said who="lb">―Macintosh. Yes, I saw him,</said> Mr Bloom said. <said who="lb">Where is he now?</said>
<lb n="060895"/><said who="jh">―M'Intosh,</said> Hynes said scribbling. <said who="jh">I don't know who he is. Is that his
<lb n="060896"/>name?</said></p>
<p><lb n="060897"/>He moved away, looking about him.
<lb n="060898"/><said who="lb">―No,</said> Mr Bloom began, turning and stopping. <said who="lb">I say, Hynes!</said></p>
<p><lb n="060899"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">Didn't hear. What? Where has he disappeared to? Not a sign. Well of
<lb n="060900"/>all the. Has anybody here seen? Kay ee double ell. Become invisible. Good
<lb n="060901"/>Lord, what became of him?</said></p>
<p><lb n="060902"/>A seventh gravedigger came beside Mr Bloom to take up an idle
<lb n="060903"/>spade.
<lb n="060904"/><said who="lb">―O, excuse me!</said></p>
<p><lb n="060905"/>He stepped aside nimbly.</p>
<p><lb n="060906"/>Clay, brown, damp, began to be seen in the hole. <said who="lb" aloud="false">It rose. Nearly over.</said>
<lb n="060907"/>A mound of damp clods rose more, rose, and the gravediggers rested their
<lb n="060908"/>spades. <said who="lb" aloud="false">All uncovered again for a few instants.</said> The boy propped his wreath
<lb n="060909"/>against a corner: <said who="lb" aloud="false">the brother-in-law his on a lump.</said> The gravediggers put on
<lb n="060910"/>their caps and carried their earthy spades towards the barrow. Then
<lb n="060911"/>knocked the blades lightly on the turf: <said who="lb" aloud="false">clean.</said> One bent to pluck from the
<lb n="060912"/>haft a long tuft of grass. One, leaving his mates, walked slowly on with
<lb n="060913"/>shouldered weapon, its blade <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">blueglancing</distinct>. Silently at the <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">gravehead</distinct>
<lb n="060914"/>another coiled the <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">coffinband</distinct>. <said who="lb" aloud="false">His <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">navelcord</distinct>.</said> The brother-in-law, turning
<lb n="060915"/>away, placed something in his free hand. <said who="lb" aloud="false">Thanks in silence. Sorry, sir:
<lb n="060916"/>trouble. Headshake. I know that. For yourselves just.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060917"/>The mourners moved away slowly without aim, by devious paths,
<lb n="060918"/>staying at whiles to read a name on a tomb.
<lb n="060919"/><said who="jh">―Let us go round by the chief's grave,</said> Hynes said. <said who="jh">We have time.</said>
<lb n="060920"/><said who="jp">―Let us,</said> Mr Power said.</p>
<p><lb n="060921"/>They turned to the right, following their slow thoughts. With awe Mr
<lb n="060922"/>Power's blank voice spoke:
<lb n="060923"/><said who="jp">―Some say he is not in that grave at all. That the coffin was filled with
<lb n="060924"/>stones. That one day he will come again.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060925"/>Hynes shook his head.
<lb n="060926"/><said who="jh">―Parnell will never come again,</said> he said. <said who="jh">He's there, all that was mortal of
<lb n="060927"/>him. Peace to his ashes.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060928"/>Mr Bloom walked unheeded along his grove by saddened angels,
<lb n="060929"/>crosses, broken pillars, family vaults, stone hopes praying with upcast eyes,
<lb n="060930"/>old Ireland's hearts and hands. <said who="lb" aloud="false">More sensible to spend the money on some
<lb n="060931"/>charity for the living. Pray for the repose of the soul of. Does anybody
<lb n="060932"/>really? Plant him and have done with him. Like down a <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">coalshoot</distinct>. Then
<lb n="060933"/>lump them together to save time. All souls' day. <distinct type="compound">Twentyseventh</distinct> I'll be at his
<lb n="060934"/>grave. Ten shillings for the gardener. He keeps it free of weeds. Old man
<lb n="060935"/>himself. Bent down double with his shears clipping. Near death's door.
<lb n="060936"/>Who passed away. Who departed this life. As if they did it of their own
<lb n="060937"/>accord. Got the shove, all of them. Who kicked the bucket. More interesting
<lb n="060938"/>if they told you what they were. So and So, wheelwright. I travelled for
<lb n="060939"/>cork <distinct type="dialect">lino</distinct>. I paid five shillings in the pound. Or a woman's with her
<lb n="060940"/>saucepan. I cooked good Irish stew. Eulogy in a country churchyard it
<lb n="060941"/>ought to be that poem of whose is it Wordsworth or Thomas Campbell.
<lb n="060942"/>Entered into rest the protestants put it. Old Dr Murren's. The great
<lb n="060943"/>physician called him home. Well it's God's acre for them. Nice country
<lb n="060944"/>residence. Newly plastered and painted. Ideal spot to have a quiet smoke
<lb n="060945"/>and read the <title type="newspaper">Church Times</title>. Marriage ads they never try to beautify. Rusty
<lb n="060946"/>wreaths hung on knobs, garlands of <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">bronzefoil</distinct>. Better value that for the
<lb n="060947"/>money. Still, the flowers are more poetical. The other gets rather tiresome,
<lb n="060948"/>never withering. Expresses nothing. Immortelles.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060949"/>A bird sat tamely perched on a poplar branch. <said who="lb" aloud="false">Like stuffed. Like the
<lb n="060950"/>wedding present alderman Hooper gave us. Hoo! Not a budge out of him.
<lb n="060951"/>Knows there are no catapults to let fly at him. Dead animal even sadder.
<lb n="060952"/>Silly-Milly burying the little dead bird in the kitchen matchbox, a
<lb n="060953"/><distinct type="nonstandard-compound">daisychain</distinct> and bits of broken chainies on the grave.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060954"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">The Sacred Heart that is: showing it. Heart on his sleeve. Ought to be
<lb n="060955"/>sideways and red it should be painted like a real heart. Ireland was
<lb n="060956"/>dedicated to it or whatever that. Seems anything but pleased. Why this
<lb n="060957"/>infliction? Would birds come then and peck like the boy with the basket of
<lb n="060958"/>fruit but he said no because they ought to have been afraid of the boy.
<lb n="060959"/>Apollo that was.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060960"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">How many! All these here once walked round Dublin. Faithful
<lb n="060961"/>departed. As you are now so once were we.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060962"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">Besides how could you remember everybody? Eyes, walk, voice. Well,
<lb n="060963"/>the voice, yes: gramophone. Have a gramophone in every grave or keep it
<lb n="060964"/>in the house. After dinner on a Sunday. Put on poor old <distinct type="compound">greatgrandfather</distinct>.
<lb n="060965"/>Kraahraark! <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">Hellohellohello</distinct> amawfullyglad kraark <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">awfullygladaseeagain</distinct>
<lb n="060966"/><distinct type="nonstandard-compound">hellohello</distinct> amawf krpthsth. Remind you of the voice like the photograph
<lb n="060967"/>reminds you of the face. Otherwise you couldn't remember the face after
<lb n="060968"/>fifteen years, say. For instance who? For instance some fellow that died
<lb n="060969"/>when I was in Wisdom Hely's.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060970"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">Rtststr!</said> A rattle of pebbles. <said who="lb" aloud="false">Wait. Stop!</said></p>
<p><lb n="060971"/>He looked down intently into a stone crypt. <said who="lb" aloud="false">Some animal. Wait.
<lb n="060972"/>There he goes.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060973"/>An obese grey rat toddled along the side of the crypt, moving the
<lb n="060974"/>pebbles. <said who="lb" aloud="false">An old stager: <distinct type="compound">greatgrandfather</distinct>: he knows the ropes. The grey
<lb n="060975"/>alive crushed itself in under the plinth, wriggled itself in under it. Good
<lb n="060976"/><distinct type="nonstandard-compound">hidingplace</distinct> for treasure.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060977"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">Who lives there? Are laid the remains of Robert Emery. Robert
<lb n="060978"/>Emmet was buried here by torchlight, wasn't he? Making his rounds.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060979"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">Tail gone now.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060980"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">One of those chaps would make short work of a fellow. Pick the
<lb n="060981"/>bones clean no matter who it was. Ordinary meat for them. A corpse is
<lb n="060982"/>meat gone bad. Well and what's cheese? Corpse of milk. I read in that
<lb n="060983"/><title type="book">Voyages in China</title> that the Chinese say a white man smells like a corpse.
<lb n="060984"/>Cremation better. Priests dead against it. Devilling for the other firm.
<lb n="060985"/>Wholesale burners and Dutch oven dealers. Time of the plague. Quicklime
<lb n="060986"/><distinct type="nonstandard-compound">feverpits</distinct> to eat them. Lethal chamber. Ashes to ashes. Or bury at sea.
<lb n="060987"/>Where is that Parsee tower of silence? Eaten by birds. Earth, fire, water.
<lb n="060988"/>Drowning they say is the pleasantest. See your whole life in a flash. But
<lb n="060989"/>being brought back to life no. Can't bury in the air however. Out of a flying
<lb n="060990"/>machine. Wonder does the news go about whenever a fresh one is let down.
<lb n="060991"/>Underground communication. We learned that from them. Wouldn't be
<lb n="060992"/>surprised. Regular square feed for them. Flies come before he's well dead.
<lb n="060993"/>Got wind of Dignam. They wouldn't care about the smell of it. <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">Saltwhite</distinct>
<lb n="060994"/>crumbling mush of corpse: smell, taste like raw white turnips.</said></p>
<p><lb n="060995"/>The gates glimmered in front: <said who="lb" aloud="false">still open. Back to the world again.
<lb n="060996"/>Enough of this place. Brings you a bit nearer every time. Last time I was
<lb n="060997"/>here was Mrs Sinico's funeral. Poor papa too. The love that kills. And even
<lb n="060998"/>scraping up the earth at night with a lantern like that case I read of to get at
<lb n="060999"/>fresh buried females or even putrefied with running <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">gravesores</distinct>. Give you
<lb n="061000"/>the creeps after a bit. I will appear to you after death. You will see my ghost
<lb n="061001"/>after death. My ghost will haunt you after death. There is another world
<lb n="061002"/>after death named hell. I do not like that other world she wrote. No more
<lb n="061003"/>do I. Plenty to see and hear and feel yet. Feel live warm beings near you. Let
<lb n="061004"/>them sleep in their maggoty beds. They are not going to get me this innings.
<lb n="061005"/>Warm beds: warm <distinct type="compound">fullblooded</distinct> life.</said></p>
<p><lb n="061006"/>Martin Cunningham emerged from a <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">sidepath</distinct>, talking gravely.</p>
<p><lb n="061007"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">Solicitor, I think. I know his face. Menton, John Henry, solicitor,
<lb n="061008"/>commissioner for oaths and affidavits. Dignam used to be in his office. Mat
<lb n="061009"/>Dillon's long ago. Jolly Mat. Convivial evenings. Cold fowl, cigars, the
<lb n="061010"/>Tantalus glasses. Heart of gold really. Yes, Menton. Got his rag out that
<lb n="061011"/>evening on the <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">bowlinggreen</distinct> because I sailed inside him. Pure fluke of
<lb n="061012"/>mine: the bias. Why he took such a rooted dislike to me. Hate at first sight.
<lb n="061013"/>Molly and Floey Dillon linked under the <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">lilactree</distinct>, laughing. Fellow always
<lb n="061014"/>like that, mortified if women are by.</said></p>
<p><lb n="061015"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">Got a dinge in the side of his hat. Carriage probably.</said>
<lb n="061016"/><said who="lb">―Excuse me, sir,</said> Mr Bloom said beside them.</p>
<p><lb n="061017"/>They stopped.
<lb n="061018"/><said who="lb">―Your hat is a little crushed,</said> Mr Bloom said pointing.</p>
<p><lb n="061019"/>John Henry Menton stared at him for an instant without moving.
<lb n="061020"/><said who="mc">―There,</said> Martin Cunningham helped, pointing also.</p>
<p><lb n="061021"/>John Henry Menton took off his hat, bulged out the dinge and
<lb n="061022"/>smoothed the nap with care on his <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">coatsleeve</distinct>. He clapped the hat on his
<lb n="061023"/>head again.
<lb n="061024"/><said who="mc">―It's all right now,</said> Martin Cunningham said.</p>
<p><lb n="061025"/>John Henry Menton jerked his head down in acknowledgment.
<lb n="061026"/><said who="jhm">―Thank you,</said> he said shortly.</p>
<p><lb n="061027"/>They walked on towards the gates. Mr Bloom, chapfallen, drew
<lb n="061028"/>behind a few paces so as not to overhear. Martin laying down the law.
<lb n="061029"/>Martin could wind a <distinct type="nonstandard-compound">sappyhead</distinct> like that round his little finger, without his
<lb n="061030"/>seeing it.</p>
<p><lb n="061031"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">Oyster eyes. Never mind. Be sorry after perhaps when it dawns on
<lb n="061032"/>him. Get the pull over him that way.</said></p>
<p><lb n="061033"/><said who="lb" aloud="false">Thank you. How grand we are this morning!</said></p>
</div> <!-- End of Episode 6, "Hades" -->